After the war
by theoncomingdrizzle
Summary: Songfic to "In our bedroom after the war" by Stars. I'm sorry for any physical pain caused by reading my awful butchering of Sherlock... o.o


__**I don't own Sherlock or this song which is "_In our bedroom after the__ war" _by_ Stars._**

**__**This is also my first ever fanfiction, so it's really not good. I've got so many ideas, I just can't write them down... o.o So, I decided to start by uploading a short little songfic...

_Wake up! Say good morning to that sleepy person lying next to you_

_If there's no one there, then there's no one there, but at least the war is over,_

John's shifted in his sleep, his palms were sweaty and the covers spread messily across the bed, the nightmares were back and they were worse than ever. His dreams were filled with Sherlock, watching him fall again and again and again, then the moment of pure bliss. In which, it was all just a dream and none of it was real. But it was so, very real. He kept his eyes closed for a while, the darkness consuming him. The darkness that saved him, that blocked his view from the rest of the world, but eventually the aching reality swarms over him, it tears through every single bit of him and he trembles as he knows what he's going to see. He opens his eyes, there is no one there.

He had been here before, when he returned from Afghanistan, so alone and so empty. He lived for the war, he lived for the danger, and once again fate had cruelly ripped it from his grasp. He was nothing anymore.

_It's us - yes, we're back again, here to see you through, 'til the days end_

_And if the night comes, and the night will come, well at least the war is over_

He drags himself through the day, he has nothing to look forward to, only the nightmares. But Sherlock is always there, never leaving, even if everyone else can't see it, because they see but they don't observe. Then the sun starts to set and alongside it he disappears,the night brings the darkness and in the darkness lives the fall. They may think the war is over, but it's only just begun.

_Lift your head and look out the window_

_Stay that way for the rest of the day and watch the time go_

_Listen! The birds sing! Listen! The bells ring!_

_All the living are dead, and the dead are all living_

_The war is over and we are beginning..._

Every day was a blur, often he would just sit and look out of the window, wondering what happened. He would look down on the city that lay before him, the city he used to roam, the city he shared with the brilliant consulting detective, the only one in the world. Cabs would drive past, each one inflicting a new wound in his heart, the memories of cases long ago, and the man who left him behind. The children run by and the birds would keep singing, and life would be going on as _normal_. So, painfully normal. Life with Sherlock showed him so much more, that there was more to life than just going to work, maybe getting married or having children, only for them to leave you to die alone. He never knew how much he missed it until all of it smashed into millions of little pieces as his friend smacked into the cold, unforgiving concrete.

Sherlock was still there, so very alive until the jolt of realisation hits him, each time a little harder than the last. John had had his fair share or near-death experiences, the war was obviously a contributor, and living with Sherlock never failed to surprise him, be it kidnapping one day or poison the next. The truth was that he had never felt less alive. It was over and this was John, John without the war, John without the danger, John without Sherlock. Nothing.

_Gridlock on the parkway now, the television man is here to show you how_

_The channel fades to snow, it's off to work you go, but at least the war is over_

_She's gone, she left before you woke, as you ate last night, neither of you spoke_

_Dishes, tv, bed the darkness filled with dread, but at least the war is over_

John was getting ready for work after a long, sleepless night. The TV was providing the only light in the gloom, the mindless babble of the state of the roads or the next store closing down, or a murder enquiry. He lifts his gaze and turns to his left, searching, wishing, only for the sound to slowly fade away as he picks up his jacket and leaves the flat. Sarah had come round last night, he didn't want her fake sympathy, or her meaningless small talk, so he simply sat in silence allowing the darkness to consume him. Eventually she left, the silence overpowering her compelling her to leave.

_Lift your head and look out the window_

_Stay that way for the rest of the day and watch the time go_

_Listen! The birds sing! Listen! The bells ring!_

_All the living are dead, and the dead are all living_

_The war is over and we are beginning..._

_We won, or we think we did, when you went away, you were just a kid_

_And if you lost it all, and you lost it, we will still be there when the war is over_

John had seen many deaths throughout his time as a Doctor, but nothing could have prepared him for that one, fateful moment. The moment where all the dreams, all the hopes, his future, all faded and morphed into the trail of crimson blood, so bright against the pale skin, a beacon, impossible to avoid. He was always right, he always won, the great Sherlock Holmes. Not that time. Everything has gone, the war is over and he's not here. The naive belief that it would last forever, but really they never had a chance.

_Lift your head and look out the window_

_Stay that way for the rest of the day and watch the time go_

_Listen! The birds sing! Listen! The bells ring!_

_All the living are dead, and the dead are all living_

_The war is over and we are beginning..._

_Here it comes! Here comes the first day! Here it comes! Here comes the first day!_

_It starts up in our bedroom after the war_

_After the war! After the war..._

The heavens had opened, and the rain was beginning to fall. John wrapped his jacket tighter around him as he trudged back to 221b. He sighed as he approached the door, slamming it shut behind him and dragging himself up the stairs. John dropped the jacket onto the chair as he moved towards the bedroom. He looked old now, he had grown tired. For the first time in his life he wanted the war to end. The never ending war against himself had taken his toll. As he entered the room he closed his eyes, dreaming of a better place, a place where he was something, a place where the war was over. He took a deep breath in, he could feel it now, the scent, the warmth, all the dreams, the hopes, his future, flooding towards him.

"John?"


End file.
